


Betty Crocker Strikes Again

by nightwingcanttwerk



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M, birthday fic, this is FLUFF and mildly crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwingcanttwerk/pseuds/nightwingcanttwerk
Summary: When birthday cakes go wrong, they go wrong.Surely Batman can handle this, right?
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 12
Kudos: 91





	Betty Crocker Strikes Again

**Author's Note:**

> A fic for the Best Boi's birthday. Because I had to post something!

“Alfred,” Jason said, “I’m a good baker, right?”

“You do possess quite a bit of skill at it,” Alfred replied.

“Like, I’ve won awards for it. I can make difficult shit on the first try no problem, right?”

“…indeed, Master Jason. Pardon me, but I am unsure as to the relevance of this at the tremendously early hour of one o’clock in the afternoon?”

“It’s Tim’s birthday tomorrow,” Jason replied, glumly prodding the shattered cake in front of him, “And his stupid Betty Crocker baking mix birthday cake has fallen to pieces. It’s just…it’s just in pieces, Alf. It’s his first birthday since we became a couple and his cake is in _pieces_.”

“…Betty Crocker?” Alfred asked, mildly dismayed.

“He said he wanted it! He wouldn’t give me any other option! I tried, Alf, I tried.”

“Have you attempted to glue it back together with frosting?”

“Yes,” Jason wailed, “Yes, I tried with the terrible store-bought frosting that is useless and tastes like cardboard. It’s terrible and awful and I hate it. I hate it so much, Alfie, I hate it so much.”

“I must profess that I have never heard Master Tim request such a thing,” Alfred said.

“Why? What did he ask you for?”

“A simple vanilla and strawberry cake.”

Jason stared at the ruin on the cake stand again.

“Alfred,” he said, “I think I have found the common denominator here. He knew you wouldn’t allow the abomination of pre-mixed baking shit in your house, right? I think he just picks the lowest effort thing he can think of.”

“…that does sound like him, I suppose. If anyone would know what his true favourite cake is, I suppose it would be his friends or Masters Bruce and Dick.”

“Do you have any idea?”

“I suspect I do. However, I know Master Timothy is also a lover of mystery, so I shall instead allow you to go on a ‘wild goose chase.’”

“…no.”

“Yes,” Alfred said.

He hung up the phone.

Jason sighed, staring at the mess he’d made of his kitchen.

“Fuck,” he said.

* * *

He broke into Dick’s apartment first. Dick was sleeping on the couch.

Jason pulled out an airhorn and pressed down.

Dick leapt out of bed, wild eyed, panicking until he saw Jason.

“What the fuck, dude?” he said.

Jason shrugged.

“I needed you to wake up.”

“Well, you didn’t have to be _that_ mean about it.”

“Tim’s birthday is tomorrow and his cake fell to pieces so now I’m trying to figure out what his real favourite kind of cake is so I don’t totally fail as a boyfriend.”

“…I understand totally,” Dick replied as he grabbed a shirt, “Don’t worry, Jaybird, I will save you!”

“You know what it is?” Jason exclaimed.

“What? No, I have no idea. I know what his favourite ice-cream flavour is. Rainbow sherbet.”

“Okay, then how are you saving me?”

“Easy,” Dick said, “I’m gonna help you break into the Batcave. Bruce definitely knows what it is.”

* * *

It was not on Tim’s file in the BatCave.

“Damn it!” Jason yelled, “How the fuck does no one know what Tim’s favourite cake is?”

“What are you two doing?” Bruce asked.

Jason and Dick whipped around.

“…Hey, B,” Dick said sheepishly, “Definitely not trying to figure out what Tim’s favourite cake flavour is.”

“And why on Earth would you think I would keep that on the Bat Computer?”

“Uh…”

“It was Dick’s idea.”

“Hey!”

“So, B, you know what it is?” Jason asked.

“Yes,” said Bruce.

He took a sip of his coffee.

“…you gonna share with the rest of us?”

“It’s Lemon Pound Cake. He probably would have told you if you just asked him.”

“Well, when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he asked for Betty Crocker chocolate cake.”

“…I see,” Bruce said.

“So? Isn’t that weird?”

“Not really. He likes to try new cakes he’s never had before on his birthday. He told me that several years ago.”

“…Aw, fuck, really?” Jason said, “Because that means I have to figure out how to make the Betty Crocker shit.”

Bruce sighed.

“Do you want my help?” He asked.

Dick scoffed.

“What do you know about Betty Crocker, rich bitch?” He teased.

Bruce raised a single eyebrow.

“I _did_ go to college,” he said.

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well you see, Jason, sometimes a man just wants to eat fresh made chocolate cake, and has a distaste for bakeries, and so buys baking mix and bakes a cake.”

“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” Jason mumbled.

“Come on, boys,” Bruce said with a broad smile, “Let’s hit the ShopRite. Tim needs a birthday cake.”

* * *

There was a kid staring at them.

“Hi,” said Dick, smiling, “Do you need help finding your family?”

The kid took off running.

Dick sighed.

“Can we leave soon, guys? The attention is starting to get annoying.”

“Oh, we can leave,” Jason snarled, “We can leave as soon as bitchass stops trying to buy out their stock.”

“We have a large family, Jason. We need a lot of cake. And frosting. And also Zesti and cheese puffs.”

“This enough to feed a medium army.”

“Tim’s friends are metas.”

“…fine.”

“Vicki Vale just entered the shop,” Dick said.

“Shit. Run,” Bruce yelled.

* * *

Tim’s phone began to buzz on the table during a board meeting.

He ignored it, instead listening to the presentation.

It vibrated itself off the table.

All the board turned to stare at it.

“Sorry, let me get this,” he said.

His phone had lit up with notifications of a Vicki Vale story and several furious emails from the P.R. team.

‘ **Bruce Wayne and Sons Spotted in ShopRite Buying Junk Food and Excessive Amounts of Benadryl’** read the headline.

Tim sighed.

“Sorry, everyone,” he said, “I have to duck out momentarily. If you all are interested, there are donuts and coffee on the sideboard.”

Tim stepped out into the hallway and called Jason.

“Hi, honey,” Jason said cheerfully over the noise of Bruce and Dick bickering.

“What the hell are you guys doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Who bought all the Benadryl and how much damage control is needed?”

“I bought it. Bruce said it would make a funny headline. Also, he’s wanting to use them for some reason.”

“I’m going to figure out if I can make a functional treatment for common supervillain drugs using Benadryl,” Bruce yelled.

“…you mean the ones they change the formula of constantly? Because we’ve already tried Benadryl.”

There was no response from Bruce, but Tim could hear Dick and Jason laughing.

“I had not considered this,” Bruce said.

“Can we use it to prank Alfred?” Dick asked.

“…how?”

“What’s the junk food for?” Tim asked, curious.

“Nothing. What junk food? We were buying carrots. Who buys junk food? Maybe you were buying junk food, huh? Is this entrapment? You won’t get me, copper,” Jason replied before hanging up.

Tim stared at his phone.

“What the fuck?” he said.

* * *

Tim was seriously starting to be concerned.

Since his very weird phone call with Jason, his boyfriend had not responded to any of his text messages. Dick wasn’t either, and Bruce was answering everything with ‘k.’

This usually meant they were ganging up on him to make him take a vacation.

And this would be strange. Tim was reasonably certain he didn’t need a vacation.

“Tam,” he said, “Do you think I need to take a vacation?”

“I think you need to do your paperwork,” she said.

“No, I don’t want to take a vacation. I hate vacations. It’s just stressing a lot to go somewhere and do nothing. I’m trying to ask if you think that someone else might think that I need a vacation.”

Tam sighed and set down her fork.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Tim?”

“I think the other vigilantes are plotting to force me to take a vacation.”

She stared at him.

“Tim,” she said, slowly, “You know it’s your birthday tomorrow and you have the day off, right? For the party?”

Tim scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my birthday is the 19th and it’s…the 18th. Shit.”

“Yep.”

“So they’re probably just planning my birthday party, right?”

“Seems like it.”

“Huh,” Tim said, “Whack.”

* * *

Tim went on patrol that night. It was Jason’s night off, but he ran into Bruce partway through

“Hey, B,” he said cheerfully, “How’re you?”

Bruce grunted positively.

“That’s good to hear.”

An inquisitive grunt.

“I’m fine! Work’s been quiet. Too quiet. Did you get Robin to stop filing potions to unseat me for my birthday present?”

“…he has been doing that?”

“Yeah? You didn’t know?”

A negative grunt.

“It’s super annoying.”

“I will speak to him.”

“Thanks, B. Well, I had better head back out onto patrol.”

“Wait. I need you to look at this, uh, grappling hook. Yes. Examine this grappling hook.”

“…Ohhh-kay?” Tim said, suspiciously examining the hook.

“Three, two, one,” Bruce muttered, drawing Tim into a hug, “Happy birthday, son.”

“Damn it,” Dick and Jason yelled over the comms.

“Oh. Thanks, B,” Tim said, “…you were trying to be the first to wish me a happy birthday, huh?”

“Yes. Let an old man have his whims.”

“No, you suck,” Dick cried as he leapt onto the roof.

Bruce grunted in an affronted manner.

“Happy birthday, Cindy,” Dick said as he snatched Tim from Bruce.

“Thanks, Marcia,” Tim replied.

“I don’t have that many children to make up one Brady bunch,” Bruce grumbled.

“You sure of that?” Dick teased.

“…no. But if I don’t, there’s always room for improvement.”

Tim rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, B, you can’t just steal every semi-orphaned child you come across. Leave some for other people.”

“Hrmph,” Bruce grunted, “I think I will not.”

* * *

Tim drove into his garage and parked the Redbird into her stall. He shed his costume in the locker room, chucking it absently at the hamper before rinsing off in the shower.

He made his way upstairs in a dressing gown he’d had made after binge watching old movies, half asleep on his feet.

To his surprise, Jason was still up, sitting in their bed, reading glasses on his nose and a book in his lap. He closed it when Tim entered the room.

“Happy birthday,” he said, “Were the criminals nice to you on patrol?”

“Hrng,” Tim replied.

He faceplanted on his side of the bed and wriggled his way over Jason’s side, curled against him.

“Can’t tell if that’s yes or no, baby,” Jason teased as he threaded his fingers through Tim’s hair.

“That would be a no,” Tim said, voice muffled by Jason’s thigh.

Jason laughed.

“Of course they weren’t,” he said, “That would just make everything too easy for you. And you would hate that.”

“I don’t like that you’re right.”

“Uh-huh. Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“We have plans later today. I want to make an early night of it.”

“Ooh, plans?”

Jason swatted him playfully on the shoulder.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Red.”

“Never, Red,” Tim teased back.

He yawned as Jason turned to set his glasses and book on the nightstand and turned off the light.

“Night, Jay,” he mumbled.

“Good night, Tim,” Jason replied before he kissed Tim’s head.

* * *

Tim woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread.

He stumbled into the kitchen, where he was presented with a barefoot Jason in a pair of threadbare jeans and an old Grateful Dead t-shirt. There were two loaves of sourdough cooling on a rack, a pot of espresso brewing, and Jason was cooking eggs and bacon.

“Holy shit,” Tim said, “Did I just wake up in a café? Because this is, like, a café spread.”

“It’s your birthday breakfast,” Jason replied.

“You are too good at cooking for me.”

Jason laughed.

“You’re not terrible yourself. Do you want your bread toasted?”

“Yes, please.”

Jason nodded and began working on that.

“So, we’re headed to the Manor later for cake,” he said.

Tim frowned.

“I thought you were making it?”

“I was,” Jason hedged, “There was an…incident.”

“Did you blow up an oven?”

“What? No. Tim, our ovens are right in front of you and they’re just fine.”

“So it _is_ only Bart who refers to blowing up an oven as an incident,” Tim muttered, “Uh, what did you do, Jay?”

Dog padded into the room and set her head in Tim’s lap, wagging her tail. Tim petted her absent-mindedly while staring at his fidgeting boyfriend.

“Well, you see, the uh…the cake, well it…it collapsed?”

“Collapsed? Cakes can do that?”

“Uh…yeah? I mean, they shouldn’t, but they’re fully capable of it.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that. Alfred never let me make cake before and I was afraid of the oven as a child.”

“…afraid of the oven?”

“Yes,” Tim said, “I thought I might burn the house down by accident. Honestly, I’m still slightly afraid I might.”

“…so that’s why you never bake anything. Noted.”

“No, that’s just executive dysfunction. Thanks for the breakfast, Jay,” Tim said as a plate of food and a mug of coffee were set in front of him.

“You’re welcome, Tim.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby,” Jason said, “Oh, and just so you know, we let Bruce make your birthday cake.”

“You let Bruce do what?” Tim cried.

* * *

“Tim,” Jason said, “You can get out of the car now.”

“No. You let Bruce bake something. I’m terrified.”

“He was supervised. We didn’t even let him try to experiment with weaponizing the batter.”

“The fact that that was something you had to stop him from doing in the first place isn’t exactly encouraging.”

“Alfred examined the cake and decided it was edible.”

“Okay,” Tim said, and he got out of the car.

No one surprised them as they entered the house- they knew too well the consequences of surprising a vigilante- and made their way to the dining room.

Dick greeted them at the door of the dining room.

“Hey Tim, hey little wing, glad you’re here! Tim, have some Zesti.”

“You got me Zesti?” Tim asked.

“Yep! On our grocery run yesterday.”

“Speaking of that,” Bruce said, “Tim, here is your cake. I made it.”

Tim stared at the chocolate cake before him, which was messily decorated by everyone in the family with collapsing roses and lopsided vigilante logos and had the words “Happy Birthday, Tim,” written in Alfred’s neat handwriting.

“It looks great, guys,” he said, “Bruce, you, uh, followed a recipe?”

Bruce winced.

“Sort of? I used the Betty Crocker mix.”

“Oh. Uh, why?”

“Because you asked for Betty Crocker, babe,” Jason said.

“…and you did it? I didn’t think you would. I thought you were allergic to baking mix.”

“Yeah, well, I love you.”

Everyone ‘aww’d- well, everyone but Bruce, Alfred, and Damian, so really only Duke, Dick, and Cass- as Jason and Tim kissed.

“Sweet as that is,” Dick said, “I very much feel the need to point out that he did fail at the Betty Crocker and had to get Bruce and I to use as backup.”

“Shut up,” Jason hissed.

“I baked the cake,” Bruce said, “And didn’t blow anything up.”

“And we are all very proud, Master Bruce,” Alfred snarked, “Now, Master Tim, please sit down. Everyone sit down. I will fetch the candles.”

Alfred walked over to one of the overhead cabinets and opened it.

A stockade of Benadryl boxes rained down on him.

Everyone stared in shock.

Dick burst out laughing.

“And that,” he declared, “Is how you use Benadryl in a prank.”

“I believe I have been ‘punkd’ as the young folk say,” Alfred said, bemused, as he waded through the antihistamine sea to put the candles on the cake.

Everyone groaned.

“Bad joke, Alfie,” said Bruce.

“Whoever said I was joking, Master Bruce? I was merely imparting a bit of youthful lingo upon my banal old-fashioned utterances.”

“I don’t think anyone could every call you banal, Alfred.”

“Thank you, Master Tim, that’s very kind of you to say. Now, where is that dratted matchbook?”

Cass handed Alfred a lighter.

“Ah, thank you, Miss Cass. I suppose I can allow for this modern dalliance.”

They all kept quiet while Alfred lit the candles so as not to disturb him.

“Shall we sing?” Duke asked once Alfred had stepped back.

“Yes, Master Duke, I do believe that that would be appropriate. Now, three…two…one…”

The family started off in an off key rendition of “Happy Birthday” with varying degrees of enthusiasm (ranging from Cass at most to Damian at least). Tim grinned as he watched them.

When they finished, Tim blew out the candles.

_I wish that Jason makes me more of that sourdough bread for the rest of forever_ , he thought.

“What’d you wish for?” Dick teased.

“Nothing,” Tim lied, before smiling.

“Oh, c’mon,” Duke said, “Really?”

“I have everything I need,” Tim said truthfully, squeezing Jason’s hand under the table.

“You’re a sap. I want cake,” Jason said.

He reached over to grab a plate and bumped the table.

The cake collapsed.

“Aww, fuck,” Jason wailed, “Can’t I catch a break?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!!! You can find me on Tumblr at nightwingcanttwerk.


End file.
